


Sensory Overload

by PetitMinou



Series: Spectrum [3]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Autistic Character, Chat is the best weighted blanket, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 18:44:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5713063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetitMinou/pseuds/PetitMinou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a lot of things Marinette finds overwhelming.  The scratch of chalk against a blackboard.  The high-frequency whine of analog televisions.  The feeling of that one brand of socks with itchy seams.<br/>But by far the worst of all of them is being <em>sick</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sensory Overload

**Author's Note:**

> I was sick a few days ago and so Marinette has to suffer with me.

There are a lot of things Marinette finds overwhelming.  The scratch of chalk against a blackboard.  The high-frequency whine of analog televisions.  The feeling of that _one brand_  of socks with itchy seams.

But by far the worst of all of them is being _sick_.  Every overwhelming feeling is coming from her own body, and there’s nothing she can do to get away from it.  Even the slightest head cold is enough to have her bedridden and miserable, head tucked under her blankets in an attempt to escape any and all sensory stimuli.

Luckily she gets sick very rarely, and it’s more than halfway through her junior year before she misses a single day of high school.

It’s really very minor.  A scratchy throat, stuffed nose, and headache.  But Marinette feels like she’s probably dying.  Or at least, if she’s not, she really _really_ wishes she was.

Swallowing hurts.   _Breathing_  hurts.  Her skin feels too small and her plush pajamas ignite pinpricks of pain anywhere they touch her.

She manages to shoot off a quick text to Alya, letting her know that she wouldn’t be at school today, then strips down to a sports bra and panties before burying herself under every blanket she owns.

Her mother brings her soup at some point, and she manages some of it, though not without a detour to scribble at a new design.  It’s lucky she has Tikki; the tiny kwami drifts into her line of sight, large eyes concerned.  “Marinette, you need to eat something."

“Oh.”  Oh, right.  That’s why she’d gotten out of bed in the first place.  She smiles at Tikki as she sips the broth—it’s hot enough to soothe her throat wonderfully—before she clambers back into bed.

She pulls the blankets over her head and taps away at her phone, opening and closing apps at random.  The problem is that under her heavy blankets, the fabric blocking all painful daylight from reaching her, she feels reasonably functional.  And drowsing in her little cave is _boring_.  But she knows from experience that without the pressure and darkness she’d most likely be reduced to shivering and tears within a few minutes.

A day or two of boredom is a small price to pay to avoid the exhaustion and embarrassment of a public meltdown.

Of course, this is the first time she’s been sick and had other factors to worry about aside from Alya.

Right around noon there’s a thud on her balcony, and she sighs as she locks her phone.  As long as that wasn’t the sound of one of her potted plants going over (again)...

But there’s no scuffling to suggest he’s frantically trying to clean up spilled soil, and a moment later there’s a tentative knock on the trapdoor above her bed.  She pulls her blankets down just enough to poke her head out, immediately clamping her eyes shut against the glare of sunlight, and scrabbles one-handed to unlock the door.

There’s only one person who would be crashing down on her balcony, and she smiles as weight drops onto her bed beside her.  “Kitty."

He _mrrt_ ’s at her, catching her blindly reaching hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it.  “Hey, princess.  Alya said you were sick.  You okay?"

She nods, but the motion sends her brain spinning and she groans as she pulls her blanket back over her head.  He makes a concerned noise, and she tries to reassure him.  “Just cold…a cold…sick not…”  The words won’t come in order, her rebellious tongue tripping over her perfectly coherent thoughts, and finally she gives up.  “Words no."

He hums understanding, scooting closer.  “Do you want me to leave?"

She squirms.  The easy answer is no, but she can’t let him stay too close or—as if to punctuate the thought a massive sneeze shakes her entire body.  “Sick,” she says plaintively.

He laughs, one hand patting the blanket in the vicinity of her shoulder (he’s about two inches too high and pats her chin instead, eliciting giggles).  “I don’t get sick, princess, don’t worry about it.  Can I help at all?"

That she knows the answer to.  “Purrs?” she asks hopefully, pulling the blanket down and cracking one eye open to look at him.  He grins, leaning forward to bump his head lightly alongside hers, before he sprawls out carefully on top of her.

They’d discovered it quite by accident months ago, back before they were together, when they were just a stressed out autistic designer and the stray she’d accidentally adopted.  It wasn’t something most people would guess, but _le Chat Noir_  makes the _absolute best_  weighted blanket in all of Paris.

He tucks lanky limbs carefully against her, rests his forehead on her shoulder, and _purrs_  as hard as he can.

The vibrations are dulled by the weight of fabric between them, but they still rattle through her ribs and shiver in her limbs.  Marinette sighs happily, stretching until she’s comfortable underneath him.

Between the extra pressure and the rumbles of his purrs sparkling in her nerves, she feels much better.  More controlled.  Good input overwhelms the bad, and she works an arm out to run still-shaky fingers through his silky hair.

His head jolts up, and green eyes meet blue.  “Hi."

“Hi,” she murmurs back, giggling when he nudges his nose against her ear.  “Stop that, ‘m sweaty."

He does it again, flicking his tongue against her earlobe in a tiny kitten-lick.  “Found your words."

She grumbles at him, but cranes her head to the side so he can cuddle close, light breaths against her neck.  She can feel his limbs starting to go limp as she keeps petting him.

That threatening buzz of overstimulation from her body’s own defenses is still there, but as he dozes off she viciously suppresses it.  She refuses to cough or sneeze and risk disturbing him.

His breathing slows, deepens, the purr sputtering to a stop.  She shakes her head, reaching out and clumsily using her free hand to set an alarm for 15 minutes before the lunch hour ends.  She won’t let him miss school, but she can take a quick catnap with her kitty first.

* * *

 

Marinette returns to school two days later, a bit pale but feeling much better.  And she pretends she doesn’t notice the knowing looks Alya and Nino exchange when Adrien sends a group text to all of them saying that he caught a cold somewhere and will be home for the next day or so.  Instead she mentally calculates how many cookies she’ll be able to sneak to Tikki, shaking her head at the ridiculous image of Ladybug playing nurse.


End file.
